


Comfort

by ria_oaks



Category: Oz (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Incest, M/M, Makeup, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ria_oaks/pseuds/ria_oaks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's first night as Beecher's prag in Oz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle V in January 2008 for the prompt 'prag'. Yeah, I don't even know... this idea just came to me when I saw the prompt, and I liked the idea of Dean as a prag in Oz with Beecher as his 'master'.
> 
> Takes place post-canon in Oz (and there are spoilers for the end of the series) and sometime in season 3 of Supernatural. Implied Wincest. Also this could be considered dub-con, or at least there are some definite power dynamics at play, so keep that in mind.

The first thing that Dean learned in Oz was that it didn't matter how macho you acted if you were young, pretty, and had lips that looked that they'd been made to suck cock. If he hadn't already figured it out from the looks thrown at him by the other prisoners and the COs as he was processed, he was told so point blank by the man assigned to be his 'sponsor'.

"Dean Winchester, this is Tobias Beecher. He'll be your sponsor in Emerald City, he's gonna show you the ropes. Beecher, take him to your pod and get him settled in." The CO eyed Dean up and down and smirked. "Or whatever you boys are calling it these days."

Dean ignored the jibe, getting up and following Beecher out into the hallway. Halfway down the hall, Beecher stopped and turned to him.

"We'd better get one thing straight, Winchester. You may not have figured it out yet, but in a place like this you're easy prey. You're young and pretty, and every man in here is gonna want a piece of you for himself."

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Beecher beat him to it.

"You can waste time arguing with me, telling me how masculine and strong you are and how you'll never be any man's bitch, or you can listen to me. I've been in this place over ten years and if there's one thing I've learned it's that you can bluster all you want but if you can't back it up with action then you'll never earn anyone's respect. And for someone as pretty as you it'll be harder, so if you want to survive then listen to me. I've been in your place, and for all that I've done since I got sent to this hellhole I don't like seeing it happen to others if I can help it. We're going to be sharing a pod, which means I can help you. You aren't going to like it, but trust me I'm better than the alternative."

Which was how Dean found himself locked in a pod his first night in prison with his pants around his ankles and his lipstick smudging against Beecher's lips. The plan had been laid out to him real simple – become Beecher's prag, and Beecher would treat him good, would protect him from the constant threat of rape and degradation that men like him otherwise faced every day. In return, keeping a prag meant that Beecher gained higher respect from the other prisoners, meant that he stayed at the top of the food chain. Not that that would be hard, based on what Dean had heard of the other man. From the snippets he had gathered his first day, Beecher had once been the prag of some neo Nazi (now in the darkness of their pod he had seen the evidence of that in front of him, burned into Beecher's ass in the shape of a swastika). But he had fought back and gained his freedom. Dean had heard other things, too, whispers about a man named Chris Keller who had been Beecher's lover until Beecher killed him and got life in Oz added to his sentence. No one seemed to know exactly what had happened, but if there was one thing everyone could agree on it was that Tobias Beecher was quite mad.

Mad he may be, Dean reflected, but he had been as good and considerate to Dean as he could expect in a place like this. Hadn't forced Dean into the sex, but had made it clear that it would be expected by the other prisoners. Dean submitted, in part to play along and in part because he was already feeling the aching need for comfort that this place engendered. He missed Sam like a physical ache, and it was only the knowledge that he had escaped Henricksen's grasp and wasn't stuck in a place like this that kept Dean sane.

But it all lead to this, Dean's back against the wall of their pod as Beecher crushed his lips against his own, smearing the make-up that had been so carefully applied hours before so Beecher could parade him through Emerald City. Beecher wasn't gentle, but nor was he overly rough. He allowed Dean some control, here in the darkness where the other prisoners could only make out the rough forms of them to know what they were doing. Dean gave a grunt as Beecher jerked him off, shutting his eyes to block out the stares of the prisoners through the glass walls. Beecher's hand moved over his cock, spreading his precum around to slick him up. It felt good, and when Beecher brought his other hand up to Dean's mouth to wet his fingers, then down to trail those fingers between Dean's ass, pressing lightly at his entrance, Dean didn't protest. A whimper escaped him as Beecher pressed harder, his finger slipping past the tight muscle of Dean's entrance and into the dark heat of his body.

Everything felt magnified, every touch, smell, sound – the feel of the cold concrete through the flimsy see-through shirt Beecher had put him in, the scent of sweat mixed with the light perfume Beecher had sprayed on him, the sound of flesh on flesh as Beecher's hand sped up on Dean's cock. Another finger slipped inside of him, filling and stretching him, and Dean felt himself unconsciously thrusting down into it. It felt good, and he needed more. It felt like a lifetime since he had last felt this, his sense of time already becoming warped by this place. He couldn't remember the last time he and Sam had fucked, but it couldn't have been long ago. A few days at the most, probably, but it felt like a year. With some effort he opened his eyes and looked at Beecher.

"Fuck me," he ground out. Beecher just nodded and let go of Dean's cock. His fingers slipped out of Dean and Dean knew that he couldn't stand to wait long before they would be replaced by something more. Silently he moved to the bed, lying down on his stomach and bowing his head to the pillow. He could hear Beecher undressing behind him, the soft rustling of fabric as first pants then shirt were dropped to the floor. A moment later he felt a warm body settle over him. Dean could feel the heaviness of Beecher’s cock pressed up against his thigh, and hands roaming over his back. A soft kiss was placed to the back of his neck, tacitly asking if Dean was ready. Dean just bucked his hips up, rubbing against Beecher’s cock, and he felt the other man’s lips curve into a smile against his neck.

He grimaced slightly as Beecher pushed in, gritting his teeth against the pain. Beecher was taking it slow, letting Dean adjust to the feel of him, but with only spit to ease the way Dean could still feel every inch. Through the pain it felt good, though, the slow burn of being filled completely. A few moments later Beecher was fully sheathed in him, and gradually he felt the pain receding. With a grunt, Beecher pulled back part way then thrust in again, adjusting his angle so that his cock brushed up against Dean’s prostate.

Dean buried his head in the pillow and gave a muffled curse, not caring that his lipstick was staining the fabric. He willed himself to forget the humiliation of being trussed up like a doll and shown off to the other prisoners, to forget about how absurd he knew he looked with his pants still around his ankles, his ridiculous shirt pushed up to his shoulders, and his makeup smudged beyond recognition. A small part of him, though, couldn’t help but enjoy it. Not being paraded around Emerald City while trying to ignore the stares and laughter of the prisoners, but here in their shared pod with Beecher’s cock buried in his ass and his hands splayed out across Dean’s back there was something obscenely erotic about knowing what he must look like now.

Beecher was picking up the pace now, thrusting in and out of Dean with increasing roughness. Dean took it willingly, pushing his hips back to meet the other man’s thrusts. He could feel Beecher’s nails scraping over his back, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of his neck, and knew that there’d be marks in the morning. Marks that said ‘he’s mine’ to the other prisoners, that let them know loud and clear to back off. Dean didn’t mind, though. He liked the small bursts of pain, and the knowledge that he’d be able to see the evidence of what they were doing when he looked in the mirror the next day.

Every thrust now was angled to hit that spot inside of Dean, leaving him clawing at the bedsheets. One of Beecher’s hands reached underneath him and grabbed his cock, jerking him off roughly. Dean could feel his climax building with every thrust of Beecher’s cock and every jerk of his hand, and he gave himself over to the pleasure. Shutting his eyes tightly he concentrated on keeping quiet, knowing that if he was too loud the hacks would toss them both in the damned Hole. A twist of Beecher’s hand on the head of his cock and he was coming, grunting into his pillow as he coated Beecher’s hand and the sheets. He collapsed bonelessly into the bedclothes, completely spent. A few thrusts later he felt Beecher join him, spilling inside of him as he gasped softly. A heavy body fell onto him, only to roll off a few moments later.

Dean felt oddly bereft as Beecher pulled out of him and stood up. He turned onto his side and watched silently as Beecher pulled on some clothing to sleep in then climbed into the top bed. He let out an imperceptible sigh and lay back, pulling the covers over him. A few moments of mutual pleasure and comfort were all that one could expect in a place like this. He wiped the remaining lipstick off with the back of his hand and tried to ignore the pang of loneliness and fear in his heart. Sam was out there, somewhere, alone and on the run. And he was stuck in here, in Oz, for the last remaining months of his life. A life sentence, on multiple counts of first degree murder. What a joke. He’d hoped to spend what small time he had left living it up with the one person left that he truly gave a damn about, but it seemed that once again fate had decided differently.

‘Maybe I’ll escape’, Dean reflected. ‘Or maybe Sam will cast some voodoo magic spell that will get me outta here. Yeah, that’s it…’ He sighed again inwardly. For now, he would take what comfort he could find in this hellhole and try not to die before his time was up. ‘That’s the spirit,’ he thought sardonically as he shut his eyes and felt himself drift off to sleep.


End file.
